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LOVE IS LOVE

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Just a brief interlude between my much loved Bear and Lena.
Not roleplay characters in this case, but novel characters.
(though if anyone is super interested in writing with them, I have similar counterparts in RP characters)

--------------------

I am out of breath from laughing as I try to keep up with Lena. She is fast when she means to be. I am laughing so hard because she is chasing a rat of all of the stupid things. I can't help my laughter because this is utterly bizarre even for us. This is New York City and rats are certainly not uncommon, so why she got it into her head to chase this one, when we are supposed to be on our way to hang out with friends, is beyond me. The rat has, of course, ducked away to hide and the last we saw of it was it making its way behind some trashcans. I hear it once more, scurrying, shuffling, whatever you call it, before it is either gone or smart enough to remain still. “Lena,” I say with laughter still in my voice though I am out of breath too, “Enough already, let's get going. We can find you another rat later.” Just saying this brings on another wave of laughter for myself, this is ridiculous.

            “I want this one! Be quieter!” she first hisses then snaps at me.

            I stand dumbstruck for a moment, not because she spoke in that tone, but because I am trying to sort out what she means. “What the fuck, Lena? Are you chasing this thing because you think you can keep it?”

            “They make great pets,” she says in a serious but quiet tone as she begins to try to see behind the trashcans without moving anything too much, “Met a guy that had one recently, it was too cool. Bear, I need this rat.” She is bending over to look behind the metal cans and her short skirt rides up to flash her panties. For most men I know this would be a turn on, which is exactly why she is dressed this way in the first place, but for me I see my friend trying to turn herself into an object and I frown, wishing she wouldn't. It isn't my place to step in though, she seems to be happy with her life the way she leads it now.

            “This rat specifically?” I query, trying to push away the image of men leering at Lena, “Shouldn't you start with a baby or something? Rats fucking fight back. You think it is just going to let you pick it up?”

            She turns back to me, looking genuinely frustrated. “Well where do I find one that young?”

            I throw my hands up in frustration. Like I know the answers to the lives of rats. This has been her adventure. I find myself crawling around behind the fucking garbage with her though, Lena just has that power with people. Not only am I doing it, I am not feeling overly used and abused for doing so. I personally have zero desire to meet mister rat up close, but I am trying to help her figure out where the hell the little ones must be. “I think they have nests or something, probably hidden...” I am starting to try to talk our way out of this whole thing when she lets out a sound that can only be described as a squeal of delight.

            It takes me a minute to figure out what the good news is, then I see the younger rat, not pink and naked like a baby, but very little, that she has spotted and is now pointing at excitedly as though she has forgotten how to form words. I take this to mean that I am supposed to do the catching. This rat may be far smaller than the original mister rat, but it is still a wild rat and I am not exactly wanting to touch it. “Shouldn't you be the one to catch it?” I sound a little nervous so I add, “Aren't you supposed to start bonding?”

            “Bear! Please! Before he gets away!” And sure enough the little thing has figured out that something is going on nearby and is leaving. Like a fucking moron I dive after the small animal, shocked when I feel my hands actually close on him, though not nearly as startled as the rat itself which lets out a scream like it is dying as I myself make a lot of noise crashing through metal trashcans, sending one lid rolling down the street. “Are you hurting him?” Lena is yelling at me now, I guess in response to the ungodly noise it is making, though I am happier with the sound than it biting me, which is what I actually expected to happen.

            “No,” I grunt at her, annoyed, from my place in someone's trash heap, on my side, unable to help myself up because I have my hands wrapped around a yelling rodent. Lena is beside me quickly, but not with the intention of helping me, apparently it is okay with her to grab the rat herself once she knows it isn't dangerous. She holds it against her chest and immediately starts murmuring to it, baby talking and generally acting silly, but the thing does stop making the horrible sound of fear. I push myself away from the trash and up onto my feet, wiping my hands on my jeans because something gritty and grimy has gotten onto my palms.

            “So,” I say, sidestepping the trashcans that I have made such a mess of, “Now what? Does he come with us or what?”

            “Of course,” her tone states that this should have been obvious. I shrug. I don't want to make her angry, but even if the thing stays friendly it seems like it will be a hell of a hassle to have at parties and clubs. She is cradling it like it is her own child though and I can see by her face that there is no talking her out of it. Part of me regrets catching the damn thing for her, but part of me knows that we will be telling that story (in progressively unbelievable ways) after we have some alcohol in our systems.

...because, honestly, it belonged here...
----- 

  Handa’s pain was something that no one seemed able to understand, not the least himself. Of course, he shared it with few, again including himself, as much as one could avoid letting oneself in on one’s own secrets. The things that had once been the source of his joys, the things he had once in fact built his life around… they were all hollow now, empty and drained. He had once thought these activities were all broken and shattered, but no, they were simply devoid of feelings, it was he himself that was broken, warped and twisted beyond repair. He knew that now. He did not have a clue what to do about it however.

    The punk, gaunt and ribby, sick and pallid, even compared to his squatter days, spent the majority of his days in a place between drowsing and nightmares. He kept shades drawn in a fetid little box of an apartment, curled in a fetal position on a small disintegrating sofa, facing the back of it, no desire to look at the bleak reality of the dirty room when he could hide in images in his mind. He knew on some level that he was depressed, but he had no idea what one did about such things, or if it counted as depression when the trigger was a real one, when the mourning was normal, or at least had started out that way. During the day, hiding from the light trying to creep in from the city outside, Handa was mostly able to sleep or reach that place at least that pretended and allowed for respite in some form, especially if dreams were sweet.

    Nights on the other hand were distraught things. Suddenly too awake, too aware of reality, too alone without a way to fix it, Handa became frantic. Panic attacks the likes of which he had never known would hit him. And hard. Hit him like freight trains. Hit so hard it was like being knocked quite out of this world and into some parallel universe actually next to this one. He would seek the refuge of under a table, a desk, pillows, anywhere ‘hidden’ and sobs would escape him that were not exactly sad or tear filled, but sounds made in place of regular breathing. He could not manage regular breathing, it was impossible to tell his lungs to work in such a way. Shallow gasps and strangled moans. He was a fish out of water. He was dying just like that too, he knew. He knew, but how to fix it? That was not known.

    During the nights were when the punk ventured out, with a great deal of effort and mixed fears, to make his pathetic attempts at scraping together what little in the way of money he could manage. Enough to try to keep the shithole room that made up his ‘apartment’. Handa had rarely cared about a place to call his own and most certainly wouldn’t care about it now, especially since it meant effort, only he had tried returning to squats or roommates since the loss of his lover, and it had proven disastrous. He was not fit to share space with anyone and now he knew it. It wasn’t just that it was uncomfortable or unpleasant for him, though it was both of those things, it was that he seemed to disturb and distress the other people and without actually realizing what he was doing ‘wrong’ in time to fix it. Now he had to at least try to keep funds incoming for this little piece of his own hell because it was the lesser of two evils. So, reluctantly, the punk had returned to some of the only business he knew how to do and had become, yet again, a small time petty cash sort of drug dealer. Mostly dealing in nearly legal, semi-legal and prescription drugs, though with the occasional foray into heavier things when he could afford the money and risk on his end, as the payout was certainly greater for less work.

    Nights, when Handa was already fidgety and frustrated, most in need of distraction was at least one of the better times for him to turn to plying his trade anyway. He was mostly disgusted by the people that he had to deal with, but that was something he was used to having to act as though wasn’t true. As someone that abstained from all but alcohol himself, he had never been a huge fan of hanging out with his clientele, though they often wanted him to, which he found greatly frustrating as he wanted to keep customers coming back and that meant keeping them relatively happy. Nothing like being the sober guy with the client on speed yammering away at a hundred miles an hour and expecting Handa to understand, to talk at the right moments, nod at the proper times, laugh when things were supposed to be funny. He hated it. He hated them. He had always disliked them but his new hatred had turned into a fiery burning living creature breathing flames into his head. So many nights forced into this exact situation because fuck, this person bought from him weekly, that was a chunk of his rent money right there, so he had to play the interested asshole. It was so hard to not tell people to fuck off and get a life…

    Funny, considering. He could hardly claim to have a life himself. To the extent where he often contemplated suicide. Not in a scared and fearful overreaction kind of way, but in a deep and numb and more logical place where he simply asked himself ‘what am I doing here? Like actually doing here?’ The punker had simply become aware that he was doing himself no good, with no change in the foreseeable future, and was certainly far from doing any good for anyone else. Checking out did not feel cowardly, nor did it feel overly brave, it just felt all too logical. Still, he had not quite gotten around to it yet, in the same way he had not gotten around to cleaning his apartment yet, or around to taking out the trash, it was just one more task that was on the list of things to do. Important things that needed doing, but were effort on a brain that could no longer quite cope with responsibility of any kind. He did nothing on purpose, or so it seemed, but bounced from person to person and place to place. A ricochet in dye and denim, rather than a human being.
-----
(anyone interested in a roleplay with this character is more than welcome to message, he has an account on wolf-haven, but as a predominantly human character, can work wherever.)

Our life together was comprised of so much tragedy that it almost feels wrong to look back and say that I would take it all over again, but I would without a second thought. Almost from the first day our coexistence was littered with pain and loss, maybe I should have taken that as an omen of things to come, yet I never fully believed in anything so silly as 'bad luck'. I wonder if I believe in it now, sometimes I think I do, after what we went through together. The hurt and horrors that we survived side by side could easily have ruined a relationship, crushed it under the weight of tears and anger, yet it was almost as though we survived it because of each other, not in spite of each other. We never seemed ready to crack at the same moments, one of us always managed to be the strong one when the other needed that pillar to lean against. Unfaltering and unfailing, he was always that shoulder to cry on when I crumbled and I was the stone that he could trust to be solid when he could no longer hold his shoulders straight himself. The struggle of it all, the strife and tragic pain, seemed to weave the bonds of our hearts more intricately together. A Celtic knot-work of love, bound irrevocably, invisible but strong as threads of steel. The insurmountable overcome... just to buckle under the hand of death so early. Something was stolen from me.
Just a brief interlude between my much loved Bear and Lena.
Not roleplay characters in this case, but novel characters.
(though if anyone is super interested in writing with them, I have similar counterparts in RP characters)

--------------------

I am out of breath from laughing as I try to keep up with Lena. She is fast when she means to be. I am laughing so hard because she is chasing a rat of all of the stupid things. I can't help my laughter because this is utterly bizarre even for us. This is New York City and rats are certainly not uncommon, so why she got it into her head to chase this one, when we are supposed to be on our way to hang out with friends, is beyond me. The rat has, of course, ducked away to hide and the last we saw of it was it making its way behind some trashcans. I hear it once more, scurrying, shuffling, whatever you call it, before it is either gone or smart enough to remain still. “Lena,” I say with laughter still in my voice though I am out of breath too, “Enough already, let's get going. We can find you another rat later.” Just saying this brings on another wave of laughter for myself, this is ridiculous.

            “I want this one! Be quieter!” she first hisses then snaps at me.

            I stand dumbstruck for a moment, not because she spoke in that tone, but because I am trying to sort out what she means. “What the fuck, Lena? Are you chasing this thing because you think you can keep it?”

            “They make great pets,” she says in a serious but quiet tone as she begins to try to see behind the trashcans without moving anything too much, “Met a guy that had one recently, it was too cool. Bear, I need this rat.” She is bending over to look behind the metal cans and her short skirt rides up to flash her panties. For most men I know this would be a turn on, which is exactly why she is dressed this way in the first place, but for me I see my friend trying to turn herself into an object and I frown, wishing she wouldn't. It isn't my place to step in though, she seems to be happy with her life the way she leads it now.

            “This rat specifically?” I query, trying to push away the image of men leering at Lena, “Shouldn't you start with a baby or something? Rats fucking fight back. You think it is just going to let you pick it up?”

            She turns back to me, looking genuinely frustrated. “Well where do I find one that young?”

            I throw my hands up in frustration. Like I know the answers to the lives of rats. This has been her adventure. I find myself crawling around behind the fucking garbage with her though, Lena just has that power with people. Not only am I doing it, I am not feeling overly used and abused for doing so. I personally have zero desire to meet mister rat up close, but I am trying to help her figure out where the hell the little ones must be. “I think they have nests or something, probably hidden...” I am starting to try to talk our way out of this whole thing when she lets out a sound that can only be described as a squeal of delight.

            It takes me a minute to figure out what the good news is, then I see the younger rat, not pink and naked like a baby, but very little, that she has spotted and is now pointing at excitedly as though she has forgotten how to form words. I take this to mean that I am supposed to do the catching. This rat may be far smaller than the original mister rat, but it is still a wild rat and I am not exactly wanting to touch it. “Shouldn't you be the one to catch it?” I sound a little nervous so I add, “Aren't you supposed to start bonding?”

            “Bear! Please! Before he gets away!” And sure enough the little thing has figured out that something is going on nearby and is leaving. Like a fucking moron I dive after the small animal, shocked when I feel my hands actually close on him, though not nearly as startled as the rat itself which lets out a scream like it is dying as I myself make a lot of noise crashing through metal trashcans, sending one lid rolling down the street. “Are you hurting him?” Lena is yelling at me now, I guess in response to the ungodly noise it is making, though I am happier with the sound than it biting me, which is what I actually expected to happen.

            “No,” I grunt at her, annoyed, from my place in someone's trash heap, on my side, unable to help myself up because I have my hands wrapped around a yelling rodent. Lena is beside me quickly, but not with the intention of helping me, apparently it is okay with her to grab the rat herself once she knows it isn't dangerous. She holds it against her chest and immediately starts murmuring to it, baby talking and generally acting silly, but the thing does stop making the horrible sound of fear. I push myself away from the trash and up onto my feet, wiping my hands on my jeans because something gritty and grimy has gotten onto my palms.

            “So,” I say, sidestepping the trashcans that I have made such a mess of, “Now what? Does he come with us or what?”

            “Of course,” her tone states that this should have been obvious. I shrug. I don't want to make her angry, but even if the thing stays friendly it seems like it will be a hell of a hassle to have at parties and clubs. She is cradling it like it is her own child though and I can see by her face that there is no talking her out of it. Part of me regrets catching the damn thing for her, but part of me knows that we will be telling that story (in progressively unbelievable ways) after we have some alcohol in our systems.

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:iconcalvin286:
Calvin286 Featured By Owner Jan 19, 2018
HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND TODAY SPECIALS, we hav- *Interrupted* (Mysterious man: We've meet again... Chan-san) ('oh no, that voice...') *turns around* (Amon, I don't have time to deal with you. Can't you see I'm with a customer who's having a birthday?) (Amon: I'm afraid I must end your journey, ONCE AND FOR ALL!!!) ('WHA?' M-Motherf**ker, I don't even want to get involved in your... whatever you called it, didn't I even told you the first time we first met? That I'm taking your challenge as a one-time thing? Look at me, I'm a waiter working in this luxury restaurant, for christ sake! I'm not a f**kin threat to you or your... Amon Clan or whatever) (Amon: That means that you are determined to end us all...) (I'm not even pla-... F**k it, Let get over with this sh*t) *ADVANCING TO BATTLE: www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3WDoc…
()=for japanese
''= thoughts
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:iconseventhunderbolts:
SevenThunderBolts Featured By Owner Jul 5, 2017  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks so much for the watch!
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:icondeanqa:
DeanQa Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the watch! :hug: :heart:
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:iconcarahwindi:
carahwindi Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2015  Hobbyist Artist
Thanks for the watch
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